Chase Sterling needed the citadel's front gate, and the two guards blocking it did not know they were about to help him reach it. His name sat on the government Registry now, a mistake he never made and could not erase. But the Registry did not know one thing about him. Chase could hear what people thought. He leaned against the wall across from the gate and listened. The taller guard was thinking about his aching feet. The shorter one was counting the hours until his shift ended. Neither watched the shadows where Chase stood. He read their hands first, the way he always did. Both men held their rifles loose, fingers slack. No fear. No suspicion. Good. Behind him, boots scraped stone. Chase turned. A blonde woman crouched in the gap between two buildings, spiked hair catching the gray light. She wore patched leather and a wide belt heavy with ammunition. A knife rode at her hip, not the rifle slung on her back. He had traveled beside her for three days now, and he still could not hear a single thought from her. Her mind stayed shut like a locked door. "You're staring," Pink said. She did not look at him. She watched the guards. "I'm listening," Chase said. "There's a way through. Their heads are half asleep." "Heads don't stop bullets." She checked her knife. "South post ignores me. I cross the east wall there. You want the gate, you're on your own." Chase kept listening. Then the taller guard's thoughts sharpened. New orders. A name on a list. He pushed off the wall. "They got a message," Chase whispered. "The citadel is sealing entry at nightfall. Registry names get held at the gate for transport." Pink's jaw tightened. "So the front door closes." "Tonight." Chase's stomach dropped. His plan had needed the gate. Charm one guard, read the other, walk through smiling. That path was gone. "If I don't get in before dark, I don't get in at all." The shorter guard turned his head toward the alley. His eyes stopped moving, fixed on the gap where Pink crouched. Chase felt the man's thought land like a stone. He sees her. Chase stepped into the open before he could think it through. He raised both hands and smiled, easy and warm, the smile people trusted. "Evening," he called. "Lost my way. You two look like men who could point me right." Both guards swung toward him. Rifles lifted. Their thoughts flooded in at once, and one word repeated in each. Registry. Registry. Registry. The smile had failed. His name was already on their list. Behind them, the gate began to grind shut. Pink was gone from the alley when Chase glanced back. She had chosen the east wall. He stood alone in front of two raised rifles, the front door closing, and the only man in the city who could hear their next move had run out of soft ways in.

Two rifles pointed at Chase's chest. The gate ground shut behind the guards. His name sat on their list, and both men knew it. He needed a new way in, and he needed it before the metal doors met. So he did the only thing left. He kept smiling and dropped his hands to his belt. "You want me held for transport," Chase said. "Fine. But look at me first. When did you last see a Registry runner built like this?" The taller guard's eyes flicked down. Chase read the thought at once. Big for a runner. The shorter one lowered his rifle an inch. Chase turned his shoulder into the gray light and let the tight sleeve pull across his arm. "Flex it," the shorter guard said. Not an order now. A dare. "Go on." Chase raised his arm and made a fist. His bicep filled the sleeve. Both men leaned in. Their thoughts crowded together, loose and easy, all of them on his arm and none on the gate. He kept them talking. "Hauled crates twelve years," he said. "You two lift anything heavier than that rifle?" The taller guard laughed. His grip went slack. Chase read the slack hands and the still eyes and knew he had them, at least for a breath. He also knew a breath was all he had bought. He could not walk through a closing gate on charm. He needed the wall. Movement near the far corner. Chase did not turn his head. He had traveled three days beside the woman with spiked hair, and he knew her step even when he could not hear her thoughts. Pink had crossed the east wall so many times the south post never looked up. She had left him at that wall an hour ago rather than risk this gate. Now she was back, low and quick, a knife already in her hand. She did not come for the guards. She came for him. Her eyes cut to the alley she had crossed from, then to Chase, then to the alley again. The message was plain. This way. Move. "Both of you," Chase said, still grinning. "Feel that." He held the arm out. The guards reached, and their eyes left the alley completely. Chase stepped back. Then he ran. He hit the gap between the buildings as the guards shouted behind him. Pink was already three steps ahead, spiked hair bright against the shadow. She did not slow. She did not look back to see if he followed. "You came back," Chase said, breath tearing. "South post," Pink said. "East wall. It's open till dark. Front's dead now." She pointed the knife at the low stone ahead. "Climb." Behind them, boots pounded stone. The front gate was gone for good. Chase had traded it for a wall he could still climb, and a loyal friend. He put his hand on the cold stone and pulled himself up.